"Are you going easy on me? If so, don’t," I said as we stopped to finish off the last couple scones, which we heaped with strawberry jam.
"I’m not. You are improving. A week ago I wouldn’t have thrown half the spells at you I just did."
"Why? Think I can’t handle it?"
"No, because I’d have been afraid your counter spell would knock me off the roof. You struck back just now, but with control. A few seemed to go a bit wild, and with your first couple Shoving Charms, I could feel the magic wasn’t entirely under your power, but for the most part, you really are improving."
My cheeks warmed and Rafi was polite enough to not comment on my inability to take praise.
Some time after the bells at St. Paul’s chimed the one o’clock hour, Rafi called up a plate of sandwiches and a couple pints of ale. Once we polished off all but a few crumbs, we took our stances again and he worked me hard for another hour.
The practice session had challenged me, but it also left me buzzing with my success. I was in such a good mood, I decided to visit Tobey once it was done. I know, what kind of crazy, personality-altering potion was in that beer? Still, I’d kind of been a jerk to Tobey the last time I saw him, and thought I’d make it up to him. Since I had no idea how to make food appear out of thin air — which would have been a really good trick to have in my arsenal when I’d been on the brink of starvation the year before — I asked Rafi to conjure me a box of chocolates.
"You can’t be hungry again," he said.
"Well, yes, I could be. But they’re for Tobey. I might have eaten most of the ones Daisy sent him."
"Cassie Black being nice voluntarily. This is a bigger change than you getting a grip on your magic."
"Unicorns, Rafi. Unicorns."
At that, the teasing came to an abrupt halt and a robin’s-egg blue box held shut with a sticker bearing the Fortnum & Mason emblem appeared.
"What’s with all the Fortnum stuff you guys whip up?"
"We have a direct line to the store. Goes back to the day when we had one of our own on the throne."
"A Magic? Who?"
"Queen Anne, last of the Stuarts. Poor thing. She was so troubled by what people said about her, over her children’s deaths, and by the petty little jealousies within her own court that it took a toll on her power. It didn’t take long before she simply couldn’t muster the confidence to tap into her magic, not even to relieve her gout. But," he said cheerily, "she did like her treats, so she formed a special relationship with Fortnum’s, and we continue to benefit from that relationship to this very day." He handed the box over to me. "Enjoy your visit."
I circled my way round and round down the spiral staircase, wondering why, with all the Magics’ abilities to conjure random corridors, an entire hospital ward, modern hotel rooms, and quite a number of floors that weren’t in the original, or any, architectural plans, could they not whip up an elevator, an escalator, or at least a flight of normal stairs in the White Tower.
Tobey was sitting up in his bed, looking thoroughly bored. I handed over the chocolates as a peace offering. He scowled but was bored enough not to raise a fuss when I called a truce. Although not bored enough to share a few of his chocolates. Which was really disappointing because I’d been smelling their rich scent through the box the entire way to his room and my mouth was drooling for a sample.
"What’s got you in such a chipper mood?" I asked in response to his grumpy expression.
"I’m fine. Perfectly healthy." He threw the covers back and hopped out of bed. Thankfully, he was wearing a t-shirt and gym shorts, not a display-it-all hospital gown, because he danced a weird two-step jig to show just how fine and healthy he was. He then plunked back down on the bed. "But they," he gestured rudely at the curtain, "won’t let me leave yet. I have to wait for Runa to come check on me since she’s been my doctor since I was three years old. It’s so stupid."
"It’s for your own good," I said doubtfully. It did seem a little silly. Tobey was my age, healthy, and showing no signs of after effects from his time with the Mauvais. And if there were going to be unexpected reactions, I didn’t think lounging in a hospital bed would prevent them. "I mean, it’s not like you had plans, did you?"
"Well," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "my grandad’s pretty busy lately with Fiona, with this portal thing, and with all the other stuff going on. Which means I could easily get to his notebooks and see what they say about the Mauvais."
"He brought his journals with him?"
"No, he had them scanned before they were sent to be stored here. They’re on his iPad."
I was just about to ask Tobey if he couldn’t just tell me where the iPad was when someone cursed from the adjoining ward. The ward where my parents were.
And by curse, I don’t mean the may-toads-spring-out-of-your-nose kind of way. This was in the things-have-just-gotten-way-worse genre of curses.
17 - BRIDGE TO NOWHERE
TOBEY LEAPT FROM his bed and proved he was feeling tip top by keeping up with me as I ran to my parents’ room. I stopped in the doorway, Tobey only avoided slamming into me by catching onto the doorjamb.
Inside, Runa’s cheeks flared as hotly as a contestant in a chili pepper-eating competition as she scanned the chart at the foot of my mother’s bed. The bed in which my mother now rested, staring into the void, not even a hint of the awareness from earlier in the day on her face.
My dad remained in the same chair he’d been in that morning, clutching a half-eaten piece of toast. Presumably the same one he’d been gnawing on for breakfast. Drool dribbled from his mouth. His eyes stared as vacantly as those of one of Mr. Wood’s clients. The ones we get ready for burial, that is, not the ones who pay us to arrange the funeral. Those clients tend to look fairly lively, for the most part.
The television on the wall was on, but muted.
"How did this happen? They were doing so well," Runa demanded of the nurse on duty. Not Jake, but a mousey-looking woman who crept back as if wishing there was a hole she could scurry into.
"I don’t know. They just sort of faded back to this state."
"Who was in here?" Dr. D whipped to look in my direction. "You?"
"No, I’ve been with Rafi all morning. I only just came down to see Tobey."
"Then who did this?" Runa growled, as if I knew.
"Chester was in here about an hour ago looking for you," the nurse said tentatively, as if offering up any name that might serve to pacify the angry medicine lady. "He wanted to know if you needed him again."
"Well, I’m obviously going to need him now. Where is he?"
"Runa, what is this shouting? You’re disturbing the other patients. You’re disturbing the entire floor, in fact."
It was Olivia. Ever since Runa had arrived, the two had been shyly polite with one another. So to hear Olivia scolding Runa— Well, first, I didn’t think I’d ever hear anyone scold Runa, so that was shock enough, but for Olivia to be doing so was like a slap to the good doctor’s face after it had already been rubbed raw with the harsh blast of a salty wind.
"I— I’m— I didn’t mean to. It’s just disappointing. Not to mention discouraging."
Olivia looked about to say something when the nurse squeaked, "Great Gandalf’s ghost." She reached for the remote on the bedside table and clicked on the volume, but the words couldn’t seep through my ears to reach my stunned brain.
On the screen was a scene that was perfectly familiar to anyone who has grown up in the Pacific Northwest. A bridge undulating, then twisting gently. The twisting then grows more and more violent until the bridge collapses into the water below.
It’s the footage of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, a suspension bridge that opened for business in 1940. Poorly engineered, the bridge shook and rumbled when it was hit with nothing more than a summer breeze. Barely four months after traffic began flowing over the span, a forty-mile-an-hour windstorm kick
ed up, the twisting began, and the deck of the bridge ripped apart.
But that familiar footage had been shot in the 1940s. It was black and white and grainy with age. What was on the screen before us came through in full color with high-definition clarity. And instead of one bridge, there were twin bridges: the first built as a replacement for the original in 1950; the second opened in 2007 to adapt to increased traffic needs.
Realizing their past mistakes, engineers had built these new bridges with strict attention to safety, stability, and the physics required to withstand wind sheer. But the bridges that had started with only a gentle sway when the nurse made her Gandalf gasp were now doing the same bucking, galloping, twisting dance as in the historic footage. Crawling repeatedly across the bottom of the screen were the words: Hand her over, or from the tower to the pyramid, all will crumble.
By the fourth time this had rolled across, the twin bridges swung out from each other. The nurse cried out, Runa swore, and Tobey shouted at the television like a crazy old man watching the news. But it did little good. Momentum paused the bridges at the crest of their swing. They then rushed back together.
The camera couldn’t hold steady and the view shuddered for several moments. When the cameraman regained focus (although it remained unsteady, possibly due to his hands shaking), the centers of the bridges were gone. The water beneath churned with the heavy crash of steel and concrete. Some cars, lucky enough to have been thrown out of the direct suck of the sinking decks, bobbed in the wake as their occupants tried to scramble out.
The scene panned up again, showing the towers that had supported the feats of engineering. Some cables had gone slack, but some still lashed out like the tails of angry cats. And then one supporting tower began to tilt. Slowly at first, as if not quite sure about what it was doing. Its partner tower had no such hesitation and tipped inward at a more confident pace.
Like a kid not wanting to be left out from something its friend was doing, the first tower’s tumble rushed to catch up. The camera shook as the two structures crashed into one another, bringing to mind of a pair of clumsy dancers bonking heads. It took only minutes for the entirety of the bridges to disappear into the waters of the Puget Sound.
We all stared dumbfounded at the television as a blonde reporter in an overly tight blouse said, "Morning rush hour has turned into a rush of destruction and death. This breaking news story is still unfolding, and seismologists are still trying to understand the reason for this devastating start to the day. No earthquakes large enough to cause such destruction have been reported anywhere in the Pacific Northwest, and no terrorist groups have claimed credit for the collapse. The loss of life is currently unknown, but we will keep you updated."
Pause for collection of breath and she quickly threw on a smile to report about a litter of lion cubs born at the London Zoo the previous evening.
"Turn it off," Olivia ordered. Her voice was cool and unwavering, but her dark cheeks had drained of blood, leaving them unhealthily grey, like weathered cedar. She stared at me blankly, but behind the look I could see pity and regret. I didn’t think this was regret over having to face another round of consoling and cajoling the world’s magic communities. No, I had a strong feeling she was thinking of what the tribunal would have to say about this latest trouble. Olivia turned and left. I pushed past Tobey and hurried after her.
"He can’t mean to destroy the world."
"What?" she asked, sounding truly confused.
"The crawler. It said from tower to pyramid. He can’t mean from the Tower of London to the pyramids in Egypt, can he?"
"I don’t know what he’s capable of anymore. Please go, Cassie. Go find something to do. I need to think."
And with that she disappeared down the stairs, leaving me standing in the hall, knowing I had to stop this before it went any further. Knowing my parents were yet another spell closer to being out of range. And knowing the time before the tribunal voted to extract me might have just shrunk from days to hours.
18 - HARSH REALITY
I WANDERED THROUGH the maze of the White Tower with my mind and body as numb as if they’d been dipped in a vat of Novocaine. Without realizing how I’d gotten myself there, I stood in front of the London-Portland portal. And no one else was around. The homesickness I’d felt earlier latched on with a ferocity I couldn’t fight. I wasn’t planning an escape. I just wanted to be around Lola, around Pablo, around Mr. Wood for an hour or two.
I reached for the handle. The instant I touched it, I was hit with the feeling of someone driving their hands into my chest and shoving me backward.
Either because I’m a slow learner or I’m just too stubborn for my own good, I tried the handle again. This time I was shoved away so hard, I fell back on my butt. On the door at eye level — well, eye level if you were standing — were the words: You shall not pass, Cassie Black.
Great. Not only was I trapped in the Tower, but I was trapped there by people who weren’t very original.
After brushing myself off, I began my aimless roaming again with my mind running on an infinity loop of thoughts. The tribunal might at that very moment have been making the decision to extract me, or to simply kill me outright to solve the problem once and for all.
Of course, it wasn’t difficult to imagine my fate being determined in a dozen other ways. Perhaps to halt any further destruction, someone in the magic community might decide to play the vigilante and hand me over to the Mauvais. Or the Mauvais himself might cut a deal with HQ: me in exchange for Alastair. Then again, Alastair could always bargain with the Mauvais directly. I mean, why protect someone who doubted him, who flung accusations at him? He could save himself and few would blame him for doing so.
There was so much to worry about that my head couldn’t take it all in. Which is why I failed to notice Fiona as I plodded down the corridor.
"Cassie," she said sharply, as if she’d already called my name a few times. I looked up and could tell from the ashen color of her skin that she had heard the news. Something in me crumpled at the sight of her. I couldn’t speak and I began furiously blinking my eyes to hold back tears. "Inside." She pointed to a door. I hadn’t realized where I was until I saw the familiar number. I unlocked the door to my room and we stepped in.
Fiona held up a canvas shopping bag. "I bought these for Busby, but I’m sure he won’t mind if we sample them with some tea."
After putting the kettle on to boil, Fiona pulled out a tin of cookies from her bag. She opened the tin, placed it in front of me, poured the tea, then sat down at the table.
"You heard?" I said, the chocolate chip treat already having soothed my nerves a small degree. "About the bridges?"
"Yes."
"The Mauvais issued a threat. He said he would. And now…" As a lifelong Portlander, I don’t even particularly like the Seattle area that much, but the thought of someone wiping out a vital bridge system just to prove a point left me feeling agitated, ready to fight, and helpless all at once. "What does he want?"
"What he always wanted. Control of us. Control of everyone."
"They can’t destroy the watch. Not yet. We have to get Alastair back first."
"I know, but if it comes down to not being able to rescue Alastair when you can save thousands of people, they’ll have to make a choice. The Mauvais," she said, shaking her head. "You just don’t understand what it was like when he was throwing his power around. You see magic as a burden, or who knows, maybe now you see it as fun. But he sees it as a way to subjugate others. If he regains his position, magic will no longer be something that can be used to amuse, to heal, or to help. It will only be used to control and to hurt."
"I know. I understand."
"Do you? Do you really?" she asked, a challenging bitterness filled her words. "Then you know that Devin Kilbride didn’t achieve what he wanted before your parents stopped him. Things were bad when he was in power. It was like hatred and corruption re
ined. If he has the chance to rule again, he won’t begin where he left off, he will begin with what he most wanted to do."
"What does that mean?" I asked, the cookie suddenly tasting no better than a piece of roofing tile.
"That means," she said, her voice losing none of its bite, "that someone like Tobey, like your Mr. Wood would no longer be allowed to exist if the Mauvais gets a hold of the strength within you. Shall I have Chester and Eugene tell you about what was done to the trolls by the Mauvais’s minions? What they escaped and now live in fear of happening all over again? You may think you understand, but until you’ve seen how vicious he can be, you can’t fully understand it."
The Untangled Cassie Black Page 12
